"How is he this morning?" said his father. "What has he got his old clothes on for, and such fine ones as he has in his drawer?"
"Why should I put on my best clothes this day, father?"
"Aint'ee going down to revils?"
"True," said George. "I had forgotten all about it. Yes; I shall go down, of course."
"Are you going to play (wrestle)?" asked the father.
"Maybe I may. But come in to breakfast. Where's Madge?"
"In-doors," said the father, "waiting breakfast—mortal cross."
"Curse her crossness," said George. "If I were ye, dad, I'd kick her out in the lane next time she got on one of her tantrams."
A tall woman about forty stepped out of the house as he uttered these words. "Ye hear what he says, William Hawker," she said. "Ye hear what ye're own lawful son says. He'd kick me out in the lane. And ye'd stand there and let him, ye old dog; I don't doubt."
"Hush, George," said the old man. "You don't know what you're saying, boy. Go in, Madge, and don't be a fool; you bring it on yourself."